The Silver Bowl (6 page)

“Oh, William—do you really think they'll let you live once you've given them what they want?”

“They might. Who can tell? If I seem compliant, they might just keep a close watch on me in hopes of using me again.”

The baby had been playing with her mother's gown. Now she reached up and took hold of something with a pudgy little hand.

“Don't, Greta,” the woman said, carefully peeling away the fingers.

I saw it then—the necklace. I would know it anywhere. It hung, even then, around my neck.

Chapter 10

Ribbons

I SAT IN THE SHADE
of the blacksmith's shed waiting for Tobias. He was helping to unload bales of hay from a cart that had just come in. But he knew I was there. He'd come as soon as he could.

I didn't mind the wait. Indeed, I was glad of it, for I was forming in my mind what I would say to him and was finding it hard to do.

I ran through truths and half-truths, even considered outright lies. I was still thinking when Tobias came over, grinning as though he'd just heard a joke—or was about to tell one.

“Molly!” he said, sitting beside me cross-legged. “Willem says you've been over at the stables asking after me. He thinks—”

“I know what Willem thinks,” I said, “and Willem is a pig.”

Tobias laughed.

“I am glad you're back,” I said. “Truly, I was worried. You were so late in coming.”

“We didn't drive straight through. We stopped for the night.”

“Because of the wolves?”

“There was talk of wolves, yes, but we didn't see any. And I never believed that story anyway. In a hard winter they grow hungry and roam in packs. But they're no danger at harvesttime. The fields are full of mice, and rabbits—”

“Tobias, I must tell you something.”

“All right,” he said.

“There's a plot to murder the king, and all the royal family.”

His eyes went wide. “Lower your voice,” he hissed. “By the saints, that is dangerous talk.”

“I'm not plotting it myself, Tobias. I'm trying to stop it.”

“I understand. But all the same . . .” He looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear. But no one was, and the din that came from the blacksmith's shop was enough to drown out our words. “Who
is
plotting it?”

“I don't know.” I said. “I never saw his face. But he's not alone. There are others in on it too. Several times I heard him say
we
.”

“Where did you hear it? In the kitchen? That should give you some idea who—”

“No.” I buried my face in my hands. There was no way around it. I would have to tell him.

“Listen, Tobias, I have a secret. I trust you to keep it. I've never told anyone before.”

He cocked his head and squinted his eyes. “All right,” he said.

“Sometimes I see things. Visions-like. And later they turn out to be true.”

“And this plot you overheard—that happened in a vision?”

“Yes.”

He lay back on the ground, his hands behind his head, and stared up at the sky.

“There is a silver bowl,” I went on, “the king's great hand basin. Whenever I polish it, a voice speaks to me. And then it shows me pictures. 'Tis like a mummers play, Tobias, only dark and ugly. The man whose face I could not see, he ordered this silversmith to make the bowl—this was long ago, when the late King Godfrey was born. The silversmith was famous for these magical Loving Cups he made.”

“I've heard of them—your sweetheart falls in love with you the minute the cup touches her lips. I always thought it was a fairy story.”

“Well, it's not. And the bowl was supposed to be magical, too, only not like the Loving Cups. In fact, quite the opposite: it was filled with a hundred curses. Then the man sent it as a baby gift to little Prince Godfrey. He was meant to die, Tobias! And that would be the end of the house of Westria, as there would be no one left to inherit.”

“That's unspeakable.” He was up again, staring at me.

“The silversmith didn't want to do it, but they threatened to kill him, his wife and child, too. He needed time for his family to escape. So he agreed to make the bowl, and he filled it with a hundred curses—because he'd given his word that he would. But he tricked the man, you see. What he put in there were infant curses: piddling hurts like scraping your knee. And he put a good spirit in there too—a Guardian he called it—to keep the curses under control.”

“This is most fantastical, Molly.”

“I know. Do you believe a word of it?”

“I'm trying to. But I don't understand how these little curses—”

“Something went wrong. The curses got stronger. They killed old King Mortimer, then Prince Matthias and King Godfrey. Now they intend to murder the rest. And they're going to do it at the banquet tomorrow. I know because I saw the man write it in a letter. He said what an incredible opportunity it would be, with all the royal family of Westria gathered at a single table—”

“A
letter
, Molly? You cannot read.”

“I know that. But the voice read it to me. It wants me to know, Tobias—the bowl, or the good spirit that lies within.”

“But why you? If there is a plot against the king, would it not be more useful for this voice to tell the captain of the guards? Or the king himself, for that matter.”

“Of course. And I've been wondering about that since it first began. But today I learned the reason: it calls to me because the silversmith, the man who made the bowl, was my grandfather.”

He didn't speak for a minute. Then finally, “How do you know?”

“The names, for one thing. I didn't pick up on it at first, as Williams are so common. But the baby was called Greta, same as my mother. And that's not all.” I pulled my necklace out from under the bodice of my gown. “I got this from my mother. She told me her father had made it. In the vision, the silversmith's wife was wearing it.”

“Oh.”

I slipped it back under my bodice. “So will you help me?”

“Of course I will.” He rubbed his chin, looking away in thought. “What is their plan? What exactly will they
do
at the banquet?”

“I don't know.”

“I mean, will they come in with an army? Or hide assassins with daggers among the guests? Or poison the king's wine?”

“I told you, Tobias, I don't know.”

“Then how can we make a plan to stop them?”

I just shook my head.

“Well, I suppose we can watch for anything that seems amiss. If the voice called you, it must believe you have the power to help.”

“Then it must know something I do not.”

“We could tell someone about it.”

“Oh, Tobias, how would that sound: I saw it in a vision? They'll think me mad at best, and a witch at the very worst. For sure they would never believe me.”

“No, you're right. What if you say you overheard someone speaking . . . that wouldn't do, would it?”

“They'd want to know who I heard, and where, and when. . . .”

He sighed. “We'll just have to keep an eye out at the banquet. Watch the king like a pair of hawks, and the crowd, too. If something suspicious happens—”

“What? What can we do?”

“We could shout a warning.”

“That's true. It's better than nothing.”

We sat quietly together, feeling hopeless.

“Oh!” Tobias said, reaching into his bag. “I forgot. I have something for you. It's only a bit of frippery I got at a country fair; we passed it on the way to the vineyard.”

He brought out a couple of blue ribbons, somewhat rumpled, and laid them in my hand.

“Oh, Tobias,” I said. “You went to a fair and spent your pennies on me? You should have bought something for yourself.”

“Why? What would I buy?”

“I don't know. Sweets.”

“I wanted ribbons. I thought they'd look nice in your hair.”

I felt tears spring to my eyes as I looked down at my little gift—a small thing, really, but proof that affection and kindness were still abroad in a troubled world. I broke down entirely, then, and wept like a fool.

“You're welcome, Molly,” Tobias said.

Chapter 11

A Wonderful Evening

I DRESSED IN MY NEW TUNIC,
the one the king had given me in the spring. (He gave clothing to all his dependents, not only me. It was part of our keep, along with food, and shoes, and bedding.) I had put mine aside for just this occasion and had not worn it yet. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just a servant's gown made of coarse stuff, allover the color of dust. But at least it was clean and didn't reek of the kitchen.

I'd washed my hair the night before. Now Winifred offered to arrange it for me. She was the oldest of seven girls and knew sommat of plaiting hair. She gave me two fat braids, right at the temples, weaving the ribbons into them as she went and tying the loose ends with a bow. Then she stood back to admire her handiwork.

“Will you look at that!” she said. “How is it I never noticed afore? You're a perfect beauty, you are—and not just on account of the ribbons, neither.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “My own father told me many a time what a homely brat I was.”

“Well, you must have grown out of it, then. That sometimes happens. What about your necklace—aren't you going to wear it, take it out from under your bodice so folk can see it?”

“What necklace?”

“Oh, come on. No use pretending to me, you goose. I seen it when you're getting dressed and such. A fine little silver circle hanging on a chain.”

“Oh,” I said. “My mother gave it to me. She said I was to keep it hidden, as it isn't seemly for someone of my station to wear such a thing.”

“Well, not for every day, no. She's right about that. But if you'd told her you was going to a king's banquet now, I betcha she'd say different.”

“I don't know.”

Winifred put her hands on her hips and looked at me square on. “What's it for, then, if not to look pretty? Eh?”

For comfort
, I thought.
For remembering. For protection. Good magic to balance out evil.

She still stood there, head cocked, watching me at my thoughts. “Truly, Molls,” she said, “it's not that hard a question.”

I felt for the chain at the back of my neck and gave it a gentle tug, lifting the silver disk out from where it lay warm against my heart.

“You're right,” I said. “I shall wear it.”

As soon as we'd finished dressing, we went up to the kitchen and joined our fellow servants. We would be given instruction on how to behave, after which we would all go down to the hall together and be seated before things got started.

We waited in the alcove, near the silver closet, so as to be out of the way of the kitchen staff. They were frantically putting the final touches on the first-course dishes, arranging things on the serving platters, saucing them as needed and garnishing them with herbs, or lemon slices, or apples, or flowers.

I noticed that the door to the silver closet was ajar. Thomas must have been in there, finishing up his accounts. He noted down every piece that ever went out of that room. Later, after the banquet, he would do it all again—checking in every platter, every flagon, every bowl as it came back. If so much as a spoon went missing, Thomas would know it.

Now here he came, locking the door, heading in our direction. And oh, my stars! He wore a black velvet doublet embroidered all over with silver and pearls, and dove gray silken stockings, and pointy black slippers topped with fluffy bows. Framing his face was a fine lace ruff, and on his head was a velvet cap embellished with a silver gray plume!

This was not the Thomas I knew, the quiet man who dressed so modestly and never called attention to himself. Indeed, at times I tended to forget he was highborn, and not some common servant as the cook was.

“Thomas,” I said. “You are a wonder!”

“As are you,” he said. “Little Molly, all tricked out with ribbons.”

I touched my hair and blushed.

“And what have we here?” He'd noticed the silver disk. “May I see it?”

I held it up so he could have a closer look.

“Silver filigree,” he said. “Child, this is a very handsome piece.”

“I know. My grandfather made it a long time ago.”

“Your grandfather worked in silver? How amazing. Perhaps you were destined to work with it too.” He smiled. “I see there are initials here, woven into the design.”

“Yes. The
W
is for
William
and the
M
for
Martha
. Those were my grandparents' names.”

“Ah,” he said, and released the disk so that it dropped very delicately back onto the front of my gown. “Well, it's a beautiful piece. You're most fortunate to have it.”

I nodded, but he had already turned away. He would be off to the king's chapel now to see Elinor wed. Then he and the other noble servants would begin the procession—up the grand stairway, and through the great double doors, and into the king's hall for the banquet.

Thomas had nearly reached the staircase landing when he turned back and winked at us, gracing us with a dazzling smile.

I could scarce believe it: ordinary, fussy old Thomas had been miraculously transformed that day. As he stood there in his beautiful clothes, with that expression of joy upon his face, he looked for all the world like a young man in love.

“It's going to be a wonderful evening,” he said.

Chapter 12

The Wedding Banquet

ALL THE SERVANTS WERE PLACED
near the entry doors, the least desirable seats in the hall. We were as far from the king's table as it was possible to be and right beneath the musicians' gallery, so it would be noisy as well as drafty.

But no one seemed bothered by any of this—for were we not in the great hall, at a table draped in snowy linen, with silver spoons and salt dishes set out before us, soon to dine on wonderful dainties? Would we not eat white bread that day and drink real wine in the presence of our king?

I wish I could have enjoyed it as the others did. But my spirit was far too heavy. For this would not be the wonderful evening that Thomas had promised. It would end in tragedy, which was grim enough. What made it worse was that I had been warned, and I knew not how to prevent it.

I glanced at the next table over, where Tobias sat with the other grooms. He'd been watching me, waiting till I turned his way. Now he gave me a little nod of encouragement. I nodded back, then returned to my troubled thoughts.

Hannah reached across the table and slapped my hand. I'd been nervously chewing at a hangnail. “That's common,” she said. “You mustn't do it here.”

I blushed, and put my hands in my lap, and lowered my eyes.

Oh, how I wished I could warn the king so at least he might double his guard and be on the alert. But even if I
were
permitted to speak to him, it would sound too ridiculous: “Excuse me, Your Majesty, but I keep having these visions when I'm polishing your hand basin, and in one of them I saw this man writing a letter. And though I don't actually know how to read . . .”

Foo! They'd have my head before I even got
that far.

“Molly!” It was Hannah again. “Whatever is the matter with you? Will you stop squirming?”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Be still.”

And I
was
trying to be still when a horn blared above us and I nearly pitched off the bench. As I was not the only one who'd been startled, Hannah let it go.

The great entry doors swung open now, and the first of the guests came in. These were the king's noble servants: the game warden, the master of the hounds, the bee ward, Thomas. They were followed by the lesser gentry, and finally the lords and ladies of highest rank.

They were like enchanted beings in their deep scarlets and forest greens and midnight blues, all interwoven with thread of silver or gold, glimmering like jewels in the torchlight as they came. They wore velvet and silk brocade trimmed with fur and feathers and pearls, gold netting and embroidery. There were slashed sleeves showing bright-colored silk underneath, and parti-colored hose, and steeple-caps as high as a five-year-old child draped with silken veils as fine as spiderwebs.

None of them looked like assassins.

Then came another fanfare, and we were all directed to rise. For now would come the greatest of the great, those who would sit in the place of honor up on the dais. The herald announced their names as each of them entered the hall: the Lord Archbishop, the Lord Grand Steward, the Lord High Chamberlain, and other such lords I have forgotten.

Then, “The right high and excellent King Reynard of Austlind!” announced the herald. “And his lady wife, Queen Beatrice!”

They came sweeping in, their heads held high, dressed alike in emerald green and gold. Oh, what a handsome couple they were, so elegant no one need be told that they were royalty. You could see it in the way they walked, in the richness of their dress and the expressions on their faces.

“The noble Prince Rupert, eldest son of King Reynard of Austlind!”

“The right excellent Prince Alexander, second son of King Reynard of Austlind!”

“The most esteemed Prince Ambrose, third son of King Reynard of Austlind!”

Three sullen princes followed their regal parents. It was clear they did not want to be there, had no interest in the wedding of some aunt they hardly knew. Most likely they'd begged to stay behind in Austlind—to hunt in the park or do whatever it was that young princes did for fun.

That was just a guess, but I'd seen my share of snotty boys over the years. I'd bet a year's wages I was right.

“The most excellent lady Gertrude, queen dowager, sister to our late sovereign, King Godfrey of Westria, and widow of the late esteemed King Osgood of Austlind!”

Gertrude was old and as thin as a post, but you could tell she'd been a beauty once. Her skin was still fine, whiter than white, set off by a velvet gown the color of blood. Like Reynard and Beatrice, she didn't bother to look about her to see the impression she was making. I suppose once you've been a queen you're quite beyond that sort of thing.

There was a brief pause, followed by another loud fanfare, longer and grander than before. It would be the royal family of Westria now.

I made a quick scan of the room but saw nothing amiss: no furtive movements of hand to dagger, no furrowed brows, no shifty glances—just a sea of bright, expectant faces turned toward the door. And so I turned that way, too.

“The noble and mighty Prince Alaric of Westria, brother of King Edmund, our sovereign lord! The greatly beloved queen dowager, Marguerite, mother of King Edmund, our sovereign lord!”

Ah. He was just as handsome as ever; his hair still curled about his shoulders with the glimmer of spun gold. But he had sprouted up like summer wheat, and his face was all angles and bones. He was more man than boy now.

I remembered that day when I was seven, when I'd listened at the queen's door—how angry they'd been with each other. And so I was glad to see them together now, the prince so attentive, cradling her arm, walking as slowly as she needed to, looking into her face from time to time with sweet concern to see that she was all right.

Oh, Alaric
, I thought,
well done!

The music began again, only now it was not just a fanfare. All the instruments were playing: pipe and lute and harp and viol, together with the horns.

“Lord Henry Hubert of Mockington and his lady wife, Princess Elinor of Westria, sister of King Edmund, our sovereign lord!”

“Oh, dear,” Winifred said, gasping and hiding a smile behind her hand. And she was not alone in this—for here came the princess, a tiny, birdlike thing nearly drowned in silk and velvet, and beside her the ponderous bridegroom, short, red faced, and fleshy. His lower lip hung down, his legs were like sausages, and perched upon his pendulous nose was a wart the size of a bean.

They reached the dais now. We watched in horrified fascination as a page helped the princess step nimbly up, then offered his arm to Lord Henry Hubert. The bridegroom leaned so heavily upon the boy that they almost went tumbling down. But another page came quickly to the rescue, and between them they hauled the fellow up.

At last the couple, ridiculous and sad, took their places of honor, and the final fanfare began.